Moonshine
by Opposites
Summary: Somethings in life make you feel so light.


Clarke sat in the dark, away from the music blaring through the air, away from the bright burning fires and the dancing bodies in the middle of the camp.

Her people, her friends.

She was crying, watching them from afar, watching them smile and laugh and live. The fire made them glow. Her body shook from the sobs as she watched them, and Clarke knew she was crazy for crying, but they were finally safe. They were alive, and happy, and not alone.

She saw her people interact and drink with their new alliances, with grounders from other civilizations, and she wondered at how they had gotten here, at how they managed to survive.

"Hey." A deep voice greeted. She jumped and turned her head. Bellamy. She wiped at her tears.

"Hey." She said, and she winced at how watery her voice sounded. He sat down beside her on the ground, his arm touching hers and she leaned into the contact, grasping for something to keep her together. He didn't question her tears, and she was thankful for it.

"We're okay you know." He stated, staring at the people dancing a few dozen feet away from them. She could hear the disbelief in his voice, and she wasn't surprised he felt the same way as her.

"I know." Clarke replied, the tears streaming down her face, and she laughed, "I know, isn't this all crazy?" She could count on her fingers and toes how long ago it had been since the split from Camp Jaha. If she borrowed Bellamy's, she could count how long ago it had been since the battle at the mountain. She was in shock. He was in shock; she had seen it these past few days, watching him as he always looked into the forest or stared at their friends. He was absorbing it in. She looked up at him, and he was staring at her just as he did the others- remembering her, this moment. He always looked so intense. Clarke quickly looked back at the bonfire, hoping they were far enough away from the light that he wouldn't be able to see the redness in her cheeks.

She straightened slightly when she saw someone split from the party and walk towards them, a bottle in their hand. Octavia. The brunette beamed when she saw them sitting there, and shook her head. "What the fucking hell are you two doing?" She slurred.

"We call it sitting." Bellamy replied, and Clarke bit back a grin.

"I noticed. How boring, here, fix it." She demanded, handing Clarke the bottle. The blonde laughed, the tears now dried off her cheeks. Monty's moonshine, of course.

"Moonshine, Octavia? Not really my thing."

"I noticed." Her friend grinned, "How boring. Fix it." She felt hot breath on her neck, and then a whisper-

"I'll match your shots, Princess."

And she would deny it later, of course, but she couldn't reject that challenge in his voice, so she took a long swig, the taste of it burning the back of her mouth and bringing tears to her eyes for a whole different reason than earlier. She looked at him after her swig, at his shit eating grin because he could see how much she hated the taste.

"Your turn, your highness." She scowled, shoving the bottle at him, but she couldn't keep the smile from coming back as he took a swig twice as big, she knows just to prove he can, and then Octavia is grabbing both of their hands and dragging them forward, dragging them towards the dancing and the laughter.

Immediately the three are swept apart as the song changes and Clarke is dancing with a Grounder, then Jasper, and she's laughing, spinning and jumping and moving with the others in the firelight. The moonshine makes her feel lighter. She spins around into a pair of familiar arms and she beams up at Bellamy, who's laughing, the intensity in his eyes replaced with lightness. Clarke lets him twirl her, and she's all too aware of how handsome he looks in the firelight. How comfortable he feels. She dances with him longer than she has the others, and she doesn't say no to the moonshine the second time it's passed to her. She likes this feeling of lightness, something so different than everything else she's experienced lately. She leans into Bellamy, whose arm wraps around her waist.

"Had too much, princess?" He grins, looking down at her, but she's warm and can't bother to be offended by the name right now.

"Nonsense." She says primly, making him laugh. She doesn't know how much time passes in between the moonshine shots, the dancing, and Bellamy's arms, but it's sometime when she can smell the alcohol on his breath and feel the world start to sway that she tells them she's going back to their tent, and he decides to go with her. Her drunk mind is a mess with the possibilities of that, forgetting that they share a tent so others could have his; because they spend so much time planning together; because its easier to have one tent that both the leaders are in.

They both stumble into the tent, and she's slipping off her boots while he's slipping off his shirt. It's dark, she tells herself when they both end up in the same bed, impossible to tell where the beds are. It only makes sense, don't want him stumbling over something. Completely innocent, she tells herself, as she ends up resting her head against his chest. He's just warm is all. She's just tired is all…

When she wakes up in the middle of the night, warm and content, it takes her a few seconds to realize there's a body underneath her head. She quickly looks up, but his eyes are closed, his long hair mused. Bellamy. She notices suddenly that she's on his side of the tent, and in his arms. Her cheeks redden. But then she remembers earlier in the night, when he had climbed in bed right after her, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her body heat close, and she wonders perhaps, if he wouldn't- doesn't- mind this at all. She lowers her head slowly back onto his chest, and she feels his arms wrap tighter around her.

Her eyes close, and her mind is racing with all the possibilities of what this might mean for them, how perhaps it's a very bad idea, but then again perhaps it's not. She hasn't felt this comfortable in a long, long time. Her thoughts disappear when she feels a hand brushing through her hair, twirling it. Perhaps she could sleep here for a few more hours.


End file.
